That's Ginny
by worn paperback
Summary: One day all the way back in June, when it was so hot you could fry an egg on the pavement (and I know that's true, me and Bill tried it once and Mum shouted at us because she had to clean it up) but anyway, back in June, that's when the baby was born.'


_notes: _It's J.K. Rowling's universe. I'm only playing in it. Imagine a childish, conversational tone when you read this - that's how I wrote it. (Which, yes, is why there are so many run-ons and fragments.)

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That's Ginny

**

One day all the way back in June, when it was so hot you could fry an egg on the pavement (and I know that's true, me and Bill tried it once and Mum yelled at us because she had to clean it off), but anyway, back in June, that was when the baby was born.

She had tiny little toes and tiny little fingers and the moment you saw her you just knew she had to be the most adorable thing in the world, you really did, all the neighbors said so. Mrs. Diggory said you could eat her right up but I don't really think so. I'd rather have chocolate, myself.

Mum said she was a blessing. I don't know about that, but she was something, all right. All red hair and brown eyes and a pair of lungs like nobody's business.

We called her Ginny. Dad wanted to call her Eugene, after his doddery old great-grandmother, but we all said come on Dad, you've got to be joking if you think our girl here's going to be named after someone who's four feet tall and crotchets. 

She cried a lot. Percy got pretty frustrated about that, said that she was interrupting his work, but I don't believe that. I mean, how much work can a five-year-old have? Even Bill doesn't like the baby all that much. He's always been Dad's favourite, see, and now Dad's fussing over Ginny.

I don't think she's all that bad, though. I mean, she can't help that she's just a baby. She doesn't know any better, right? So I play with her sometimes, when I'm not practicing Quidditch outside with Bill. I really want to play for Gryffindor this year, but I'm only a second-year. Bill says I'm good, but I think that he's just saying that. Jack Finnigan is the Gryffindor Seeker already, and I've seen him play - he's brilliant, loads better than me.

So I play with Ginny. She's really tiny, like maybe a foot long, and when I hold her I'm so afraid that I'll drop her, that she'll just fall to the floor and smash into a thousand little pieces of Ginny.

She's a funny kid. She's not like Ron or Fred and George were, when they were just newborn babies like her. They were chubby when they were born - fat, round little babies with red cheeks and big grins. She's different.

Mum's glad I play with Ginny. She says that I'm so responsible, and how good it will be for me to have skills with children when I grow up and start my own family.

I guess so. Really, I just like playing with my kid sister.

When Mum's tired I take over for her. I read Ginny fairy tales that she can't understand, feed her bottled milk, and, when no one is looking, I smear her lips with applesauce because I know that she likes it, even though she's not supposed to have it. I feel guilty sometimes for doing that, and sometimes Mum will look at me and frown like she does with Fred and George, like she knows I did something I wasn't supposed it, but then Ginny will laugh, clap her hands together, and then I'm all right again.

I don't play Quidditch a lot anymore. I haven't got time.  
  


I know that I probably won't make the team if I don't practice. I won't be able to be Gryffindor Seeker like I want to. I was bit down about that, at first. But there's Ginny, and I know that she needs me.

It's August now, and school's starting tomorrow. You'd think I'd be mad with excitement, but honest, I'm not looking forward to it all that much. I'm going to miss Ginny. She'll be a whole year older when I get back - she might not even remember me.

But it'll be okay. Because when there's the smell of applesauce in the air - that's Ginny. Laughter of little girls, girls even smaller than I am (and Mum says I'm short for my age) - Ginny. Rag dolls and fairytales and flower-printed dresses. Ginny.

And when there's love, so much love that you think you could just burst with it, that you'll just erupt in an explosion of happiness and sadness till you can't tell the difference between the two...

Yeah. That's her. That's Ginny.


End file.
